LETTER III. THE VICAR-THE CURATE, &c. And telling me the sov'reign'st thing on earth Was parmacity for an inward bruise. Shakspeare.-Henry IV. Act 1. So gentle, yet so brisk, so wond'rous sweet, Churchill. Much are the precious hours of Youth mispent, Churchill. D LETTER III. VICAR. The lately departed Minister of the Borough. His soothing and supplicatory Manners.-His cool and timid Affections.-No Praise due to such negative Virtue.-Address to Characters of this kind.—The Vicar's Employments.-His Talents and moderate Ambition.-His Dislike of Innovation.-His mild but ineffectual Benevolence.-A Summary of his Character. CURATE. Mode of paying the Borough-Minister.-The Curate has no such Resources.-His Learning and Poverty.Erroneous Idea of his Parent.-His Feelings as a Husband and Father.-The dutiful Regard of his numerous Family.-His Pleasure as a Writer, how interrupted. No Resource in the Press. Vulgar Insult.-His Account of a Literary Society, and a Fund for the Relief of indigent Authors, &c. WHERE ends our Chancel in a vaulted space, To what fam'd College we our Vicar owe, Few live to speak of that soft soothing look Fear was his ruling passion; yet was Love, She, with her widow'd Mother, heard him speak, Accuse me not that I approving paint Impatient Hope or Love without restraint; But is the Laurel to the Soldier due, Who cautious comes not into Danger's view? The married Dame in vain assail'd the truth And guarded bosom of the Hebrew-Youth; But with the Daughter of the Priest of On The love was lawful, and the guard was gone; But Joseph's fame had lessen'd in our view, Had he, refusing, fled the Maiden too. Yet our good Priest to Joseph's praise aspir'd, As once rejecting what his heart desir'd; "I am escap'd," he said, when none pursu’d; When none attack'd him, " I am unsubdu'd ;" "Oh pleasing pangs of Love," he sang again, Cold to the joy, and stranger to the pain. Ev'n in his age would he address the Young, "I too have felt these fires, and they are strong;" But from the time he left his favourite Maid, To ancient Females his devoirs were paid; And still they miss him after Morning Prayer; Nor yet Successor fills the Vicar's chair, Where kindred Spirits in his praise agree, A happy few, as mild and cool as he ; The easy followers in the Female Train, Led without Love, and Captives without Chain. Ye Lilies male! think (as your Tea you sip, While the Town Small-talk flows from lip to lip; Intrigues half-gather'd, Conversation-scraps, Kitchen-cabals, and Nursery-mishaps,) If the vast World may not some scene produce, Some state where your small Talents might have use; Within Seraglios you might harmless move, 'Mid ranks of Beauty, and in haunts of Love; There from too daring Man the Treasures guard, Nature's soft substitutes you there might save From Crime the Tyrant, and from Wrong the Slave. To his fair Friends, and made their beauties known, "Like Flowers were sweet, and must like Flowers decay." Simple he was, and lov'd the simple Truth, And rather for Defence than Conquest meant ; Fiddling and Fishing were his arts: at times Mild were his Doctrines, and not one Discourse Kind his Opinions; he would not receive |